


Robbers

by Shelligator



Category: Green Eggs and Ham (Cartoon), Green Eggs and Ham - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Drama, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelligator/pseuds/Shelligator
Summary: "It's not living if it's not with you."With their adventure drawing to a close, Sam I-Am is confronted by the aftermath of his actions.  But when that means going their separate ways, Guy Am-I rails against the prospect of a life without the man who'd lit up his sad, gloomy world.He's had to make a great many decisions since he first met Sam. Made choices that surprised even himself. And now it's time to choose a choice once again.Despite its magnitude, the choice is easy. As easy as eating green eggs and ham.A criminals/on the run fic! And a homage to The 1975. Lines/themes from their songs will be woven throughout. I was gonna make this a oneshot, but it's grown to be far more than that.Kudos and Comments appreciated! <3
Relationships: Gluntz/Michellee (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I & Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I/Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	1. We'll Give You One More Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Robbers! The oneshot that ran away with me.  
> I figured I'd see how people felt about the first chapter and decide if I should make it longer. But at this rate, I'm having enough fun to make a full story out of it.
> 
> This is also a passion project and homage to The 1975, a band close to my heart. So if you see an odd line or two, it's probably a line from their songs woven into the text. <3
> 
> Songs for this Chapter:
> 
> Robbers  
> It's Not Living (If it's Not With You)  
> Talk!  
> This Must Be My Dream  
> The 1975
> 
> Happy reading! All kudos and comments are much loved and appreciated, I'd love to hear from you! <3 And any and all suggestions are welcome.
> 
> Edit: Broke it up into two chapters for easier reading.

The wind at the top of the balloon port tower is biting, like icy fingers brushing through Sam’s fur as the breeze moves past him to push that distant red balloon onwards into the night sky. They stand there, seeing their friend off as his Cold Air Balloon carries him home, to a distant island far away from the people who had hurt and loved him. Where Sam’s sure Mr Jenkin’s mom is waiting for him. He’s sure she won’t recognise him, sure she won’t be able to contain her love and joy. Or her pride for the chickeraffe he’s become. 

She must miss her boy so much.

Guy Am-I’s hand is warm on his shoulder. With a comforting weight to it that Sam committed to memory the night before, in that tent that feels lifetimes behind them.

When Sam tilts his head just so, the silky white fur of his cheek brushes over the back of Guy’s hand. Like peaches and cream, the conman can’t help but think, watching out of the corner of his eye. The Knox doesn’t react, but Sam’s heart blooms with far too much warmth in his chest, and it takes everything for him not to nuzzle into the sunset fur of Guy’s arm. To not throw his arms around him again and hug him tight enough to make up for the hours they’d spent apart, even if it was their own doing.

He’d been so close to never seeing Guy again. It makes his heart sink thinking about it now, and a knot of anxiety forms in his stomach. Something niggles furiously at him, and he feels a familiar panic start to tighten his throat, cutting off his air.

_What if..._

“Do you think they’ll have in-flight ties for him? For the trip?” He pipes up, dismissing the start to that thought as he tilts his head to flash the inventor the brightest smile he can muster.

It seems to take Guy a moment to register that, the inventor’s face uncharacteristically tender as he turns from the now minuscule pinprick of red on the horizon to meet Sam’s gaze with his own, smiling down at him. Sam’s smile doesn’t falter, but his stomach drops like the port floor has disappeared from beneath his feet, magicked away by that smile.

But when Sam’s words finally dawn on him, Guy’s face slowly falls, his lips parting in an ‘o’ as his eyes steadily widen. Looking from Sam to the horizon and back, the Knox's brows knit in uncertainty, and he lifts his hand from Samuel’s shoulder to rub a hand over his forehead. The bandit mourns its absence, his shoulder quickly turning cold without the familiar, cherished warmth of his hand, always gone far too soon for his liking.

It could be there for hours, and it wouldn’t be enough for him.

“You didn’t think about that _before_ he left? I mean, neither did I, really…” Guy admits sheepishly, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. A nervous trait of his that Sam had quickly picked up on.

“Um… no?” Sam pipes up cautiously, his stomach sinking as his gaze flicks between Guys equally distraught features and the now-empty night sky.

“Yeaaaah… just a wild guess here, but I don’t think ColdAirways caters to the dietary requirements of _wild chickeraffes_.” A familiar voice chimes in sceptically, and the pair turn on the spot to find EB looking up at them with arched brows, her lips twisted with unease.

“How long’s the flight there?” Sam queries nervously, already dreading the answer, and the girl waves her hands, exasperated by their lack of knowledge.

“A couple of days, _at least_ , that’s not even considering turbulence, stop-overs, oncoming wind speed, or even the mass migration of Whovian Fallow Geese for the winter! Pointed prongs and balloons _really_ don’t mix!”

“How do you even-” Guy starts incredulously, but she holds up a hand to stop him, her expression jaded.

“When you don’t get to play outside, you have a _lot_ of free time.”

Guy lets out a broken sound that’s half groan, half whimper, “Well what now?” He runs a hand down his face in a long dramatic sweep, his shoulders scrunching up with the deep breath he draws in. 

Sam feels his heart sink, looking up at his best friend as that anxious knot coils and twists in his stomach. Guy had been so happy moments before, with his past failures seemingly rolled off his back. And after all they’d been through, he’d hoped for the end of their journey to stay on that high note that had uplifted them both.

“H-hey, there’s gotta be something we can do, right? I’m… I’m _real_ sorry bud, that was definitely my bad. I mean, in my defence, there… there was a _lot_ going on, and I…”

“I know, Sam. I didn’t think about it either.” Guy utters quietly, the words riding on his long exhale. The Knox lets his hand fall away from his face, and Sam is stunned into silence when he sees the softness in Guy’s usually steely gaze.

And the words continue to fail him as autumn feet carry Guy over to him. Sam’s sunny hands curl up to his chest as his shoulders tense, and Guy deftly lifts his hat to gather up the flight tickets Sam had forgotten there, fingers casually brushing over his snowy crown as he does so.

Sam’s knees wobble. Guy doesn’t notice.

“What are you…?” Sam trails off, his voice small even to him as he watches the taller man scan the tickets, absently bouncing Sam’s hat against his hip with his other hand.

“Checking something.” The knox hums thoughtfully in response, and Sam shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Is everything alright?” a familiar voice interrupts, layered with that trademark not-so-subtle concern. The Who almost jumps out of his skin, and he barely has time to plaster a cheerful grin to his face, one so full of holes and cracks he worries she’ll see right through it.

_Not now..._

“Michellee! Ha! Oh yes, everything’s _peachy_!” he chirps, throwing in a giggle at the end for good measure as the bean counter moves to stand beside Guy, attempting to peer over his arm at the tickets with an anxious pinch to her brow.

Guy’s eyes drift up to meet hers, and he flashes her a smile Sam swears is not unlike the one his friend had given him moments earlier, tender and warm and all the things that make his heart crack and splinter.

That smile that had been his for a wonderful instant. Before he’d messed up.

He loathes how perfect the two of them look together, how far away they look even as he stands before them.

And Sam hates the way Michellee still glances his way with that same look of appraisal and uncertainty she would undoubtedly use to examine recently expired food. He resents it as she reaches up to place her hand on Guy’s forearm, still regarding Sam with that critical look that makes him feel like he should avert his gaze from them.

He hates himself for how much it bothers him. That look, that cautious glare, upsets him now more than it did an hour ago. Before she’d pressed her mouth to his best friend’s. And he hates himself even more for how much it had hurt to see it, how quickly he’d rushed in to cut that moment short.

_If only…_

“They are, actually!” Guy confirms warmly, and Sam blinks in surprise, his mask falling away as he’s shocked from his momentary reverie. The Knox waves the tickets in Sam’s direction before tucking them back into his floppy red hat, “There’s a stopover in the morning, we can call ahead and get them to take Jenkin’s some ties. Not the worst thing we’ve had to do, right Sam?”

With a little flourish, Guy plops Sam’s hat back on his head, and Sam flinches just slightly before he adjusts it, smiling up at the pair from beneath the brim, “That sounds like a plan to me bud! First-class service for our pal, can’t have him seeing his mum again on an empty stomach!”

“We’ll need to find a phone. Perhaps the concierge desk won’t mind calling for us. That is, if they don’t have a problem with er, _wild animals_ on their balloons.” Michellee chips in, looking a little apprehensive at the thought.

“He’s checked in as a ‘Miss Tyrious Briefcase’. I don’t think we’ll have a problem.” Guy drawls, using his fingers to form quotation marks in the air, and the inventor exchanges a knowing look with Sam that makes his chest swell with pride, “This ordeal has taught me a lot, including the unrelenting willful ignorance of our fellow man.”

“Well look at you go.” Sam quips in response, but the look he gives Guy as he saunters off to get his discarded briefcase is one of genuine awe. He really has come a long way from the wide eyed, naive man who’d scrambled into the car seat beside him at the start of their fated adventure.

Taking in a deep breath of the chilly night air, Sam turns to peer out at the horizon one last time, placing his hands on his hips in a show of cocky confidence as he purposefully rolls his shoulders. But try as he might, he can't shake the unsettling feeling that coils in his stomach, and the weight in his chest that threatens to bow his shoulders.

He's trying not to think too hard about what happens now. Now that their adventure is over. His gaze pans lazily from the horizon to peak over at Guy, who’s fished a spare Stovepipe out of his briefcase, just as crooked as the last. The marigold knox grumbles in disdain, and Sam can’t help but snicker as he plops the bent hat back on his head.

But just out of the corner of Sam’s eye, he catches EB’s face suddenly twisting into a confused, unhappy frown, the red head shifting closer to her mother. It catches the bean counter’s attention, her hand coming to rest on EB’s shoulder protectively.

“Sam…?”

A weight seems to drop right through him at her tone, his blood running cold. He doesn’t like that tone at all.

“Yeah?” the Who shoots back, his voice cracking as his mask slips, taking in Michellee’s gasp. Her hand claps up to her mouth to stifle the sound, both girls looking through and past him. 

But it’s Guy’s face that makes Sam seize up. The knox is frozen in place, his briefcase clutched in a white knuckled grip as he stares past Sam to the runway behind them, other hand still frozen in place where he’d perched his hat back atop his head.

He looks so scared.

“Put your hands where we can see them, I-Am!” Comes a vicious roar from behind him, and the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stands on end. It’s like a thunderclap, cleaving Sam’s world in half, sending him icy cold in an instant.

_Please no._

Whirling, his heart thrumming a frantic rhythm in his chest, Sam comes face to face with a port deck teaming with Meepville’s finest; men and women in dark navy, with gleaming gold badges that definitely weren’t made of plastic, like the one he’d waved in Guy’s face days before. 

And they had taser guns, black and yellow like angry hornets. the moon glinting off the cold, glossy metal. They were all trained on him, trigger fingers poised and ready as they slowly edged closer. 

He swears he can hear them buzzing, thrumming with electricity. It was a familiar sound, a sound that made him feel sick, that made every fibre of his being practically vibrate with the desperate need to _flee_.

“Hey now… come on, there’s no need for _that_.” Sam says quickly, a shaky, amicable smile plastered to his face as he takes a nervous step back. But the burly man who’d spoken raises his taser threateningly, eyes narrowed to slits.

“This is Meepville PD! Sam I-Am, you’re under arrest for fraud, breaking and entering, theft, poorly impersonating a cloven animal, damage to government property, reckless endangerment of balloon port property and passengers, unlicensed balloon hopping, unlicensed practice of hypnotherapy, endangered animal smuggling, assaulting an officer of the law-”

“ _Assault?!_ ” Michellee cries out shrilly, pulling EB into a vice-like grip. The girl yelps in protest, but her mother’s hold is final, the taller woman whirling to throw Guy a look of horror, “Is that all true? Guy?!”

That and more. The weight on Sam’s chest is agonizing, his hopes for a brighter future dashed and scattered on the chilly breeze that feels even more biting now that the warmth has truly left him. Years of running, years of lies and deceit have led him here. He should have known better than to think McWinkle’s forgiveness would somehow make an extensive criminal record disappear. He was a Bad Guy, not a cop, as they were quick to remind people.

He was a fool for getting his hopes up. Now that was a crime against himself Sam had committed more than any other. And yet, he couldn’t stop, and it never hurt any less. Years of hoping his mom was still out there waiting for him. Years of hoping for the love of another to reach him, years of hoping someone would finally see him. What did it amount to now?

Sam knows better than to take his eyes off the cops in front of him, and yet he turns just enough to set his eyes on Guy, his throat working, hands closed in shaking fists. The knox’s gaze meets his own, flickering between him and the cops, and Sam’s heart breaks as he realizes Guy is hyperventilating. Like he had in their daring prison escape just days ago.

Sam wishes he could catch him again, wishes he could make all this go away for him. He flashes the taller man a sad but genuine smile, and he hopes, with all that’s left of his heart, that Sam’s warmth will reach him.

_I’m sorry buddy… my one last job, remember?_

And just like that, Sam puts his hands up, raising them above his head and lacing his fingers behind his hat.

“Just don’t hurt them, okay? They had nothing to do with this.” the sunflower yellow convict calls out, and it’s strange to hear the hitch in his voice, the tremble of emotion there. Once upon a time, he’d have berated himself for showing his fear and remorse. For letting the world know he cared about anything at all.

Oh, but he cares so, _so much_. It was bigger than him, too much to comprehend. It hurt so badly, and no amount of tears could wash it away. He knew that, he’d certainly tried, curled up alone in his RV late at night, waiting for sleep to claim him as he wept. Or all the times he’d sat doubled over, blindly wrapping himself in bandages as he wished harder than ever that his mother could be the one tending to his wounds, like when he’d undoubtedly scraped his knees playing as a child.

But he’ll be damned if he cries now. He swallows back the lump in his throat, his lips pressed together in an unhappy line to stop them trembling.

“Retrieve the civilians.” The larger cop barks to a serious-looking subordinate, all mint green fur and massive moustache, beady black eyes sweeping over the ragtag group. He grunts before approaching Sam’s friends, beckoning for them to move towards him.

It hurts more than he’ll ever admit as Michellee practically runs to join the approaching officer, dragging a quietly weeping EB along with her. The girl makes a grab at Sam as she’s pulled past, wailing in protest, but she’s ferried along regardless, hand pawing at empty air. 

Sam’s heart bleeds like an open wound. His eyes sting, and he turns to give Guy a pleading look, his hands fisting in his crimson hat. Guy’s face is mortified, his briefcase falling to the floor with an unceremonious crash of protest from the tools and gizmos inside. But he doesn’t look away, his gaze locked with Sam’s.

_Please don’t leave me._

“Safe journey home, Travel Buddy. You’re… you’re the best bud a Sam could ever ask for. And promise you’ll visit me, okay? Or write, and tell me all about your thinga-ma-daves and invention-thingies. Just… keep the words small, this Who isn’t great with big words.”

There’s so much more he wants to say, so much more that perches right on the tip of his tongue that his trembling lips won’t dare part for. Like how his world seemed all the brighter with Guy in it, even if he wouldn’t be beside him anymore. How that sunset on the hill was so much more beautiful with him to share it with. How the warmth of his all-encompassing embrace would forever be his home, a safe harbour in a tumultuous ocean of uncertainty and bitter loneliness.

When Guy opens his mouth to respond, nothing comes out, the inventor’s shoulders curling up as he struggles to find the words. Perhaps it’s for the best, his voice would be too much for Sam now. It’s already too hard to walk away, too impossibly difficult.

But start walking he does. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Guy drop down to pick up his briefcase.

“Right this way, _Furry-Foot Bandit_. Don’t try anything funny. And you have the right to remain silent. Blissfully so.” The Sargent hollers across the space, a sneer on his face as Sam slowly makes his way towards them. A few officers break away from the group to march towards him, tasers still aimed squarely at him.

“A bit harsh, but okay. I could have sworn there was more you were supposed to say…” Sam pipes up, unable to resist as he arches a cocky brow at him. 

But no one responds to that, and Sam blinks hard as the officers throw frowns past him, adjusting their grips on their tasers as their gazes suddenly arc upwards. Sam cants his head to the side, his brow creasing in confusion.

“You can open it! I believe in you! Go, go, go!” A robotic voice cheers gleefully overhead, and Sam looks up to see a streak of light blue and pink, flung far and high. Whatever it is whirs and chirps, all flailing limbs and shaking pom-poms as it sings its song of encouragement.

“Open what?” Sam breathes, staring up at the peppy gizmo-thingy with wide eyes as he falters in his step.

But a large, familiarly warm hand clamps down around his own, sunset fingers locking around his digits.

“Go! Gogo **gogogo**!” Guy howls, practically lifting Sam’s feet off the ground as he pulls him along behind him, ducking low and running fast right towards the group of perplexed officers, their faces turned skywards.

“ **Guy**?!” Sam wails in shock and surprise, voice cracking as his eyes bug right out of his head, “What are you-?!”

And then the sky explodes above their heads, blooming gold and orange, raining hellfire down on the world below.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Please don’t leave me._

Guy Am-I feels his throat close up, choking back the words that threaten to tumble from his lips in a frantic jumble of desperation and panic. His heart palpitates in his chest, tripping over itself in panicked horror as Sam’s sad smile fills his vision, his farewell ringing in his ears.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

Oh but it is, and as Sam turns on his heel to face those snarling police officers, his face an open book of fear and anguish, Guy’s entire world lurches on its axis, almost sending him to his knees.

He couldn’t lose Sam again.

It had been so very, very long since Guy had felt the warmth of another touch his heart. Despite his protests, Sam had slammed against his frigid walls. Unrelenting in his vehement insistence that yes, he did deserve to be happy, and yes, he was deserving of love. Love for himself most of all. He’d been powerless to that warmth, and the threat of its absence again is too much, far too much for one Guy to bear.

Guy fights back the cry of panic that claws at his throat, his gaze flickering from Sam to the tasers and back, then back again. Watching them spark, flinching as talons of blue flick and slash from the barrels with snaps and angry clicks.

Over the past few days, Guy has made a great many decisions. Now it's time to choose a choice again. And surprisingly, the choice is obvious, and as easy to make as it was to choose green eggs and ham over losing his best friend forever.

He’d only spent a few hours apart from Sam. That was all it took to realize that a life without Sam wasn't a life he wanted to go back to. And a life of danger and constant pursuit was better than the crumpled life he left behind.

_It’s not living if it’s not with you..._

This is enough to have the inventor stoop to pull apart his briefcase, his mind racing a mile a minute, his chest swelling with enough anticipation to stop his breathing. Brow creased, he snatches up his Can Opener, and with desperate conviction, he turns it on before hurling it into the night sky overhead. He’s running before it’s even left his fingers, scooping up his briefcase as he goes.

“You can open it! I believe in you! Go, go, go!” his invention cheers gleefully, and the words echo in his head like a mantra as his eyes zero in on the familiar, sunny expanse of Sam’s back.

_I believe in you. **I believe in you! Go, go, go!**_

When his hand clasps around Sam’s, Guy’s fragile world, even in all this chaos, rights itself in an instant. It fits perfectly in his, a small and familiar warmth in his hand that means _everything_ to him. It would be terrifying, if it hadn’t given him the strength to try again, to love and believe in himself again. It brought with it laughter, tears, hope and happiness, things he’d forgotten how to feel, or never thought he could again.

He ignores Sam’s cry of confusion and protest, pulling the smaller man along with ease as he runs. He’s already ducking, stooping as low as his flat out pelt across the port will allow. And a good thing too, because even as low as he is, the explosion above them brings heat raining down on the fur of his back, and he looks up in wild, vaguely shell-shocked awe at the sheer magnitude of the explosion above them as his invention goes off. It blooms like a rose, roaring as the shockwave it expels shakes the entire balloon port tower. 

Several people scream, and one of them is distinctly familiar to him. The pair charge past Michellee and EB, the mother curled around her daughter protectively as she looks between Guy and the explosion overhead wildly. But her gaze follows him as he goes past, and she reaches out to him, her voice a broken keen.

“No! Guy?! **Guy!** ”

But he doesn’t look back, gritting his teeth against the guilt that sends him cold. Sam does however, looking over his shoulder with a panicked grimace before turning to gape at him, feet scrambling in a desperate effort to keep pace with Guy’s longer strides.

_I’m sorry, I’m **so** sorry._

They’re hurtling past the group of officers then, Meepville’s finest in a state of disarray. Some of them have thrown themselves to the ground, others cling to one another in shock and alarm. But to Guy’s horror, some have the sense enough to snap their attention to them as they run past, the Knox's heart almost stops in his chest as they level their tasers at the both of them, teeth bared in anger.

“Stop right there!” They bellow, but Guy has no intention of doing anything of the sort. They know this as much as he does, and without hesitation they pull their triggers, sending sparking wires right for him.

With twin yelps of fear the two scramble and dive, their bodies contorting as the forked tongues of electricity lap at the air around them, making it crackle and buzz violently. All of Guy’s fur stands on end, and he yanks Sam closer to him, lifting him off the ground again as he books it with panicked haste.

Those tasers made the Bad Guy’s nets look friendly in comparison. The electricity in the air, the violence of it, was very, very real. And yes, so was Sam’s hand. His fingers have closed around his now, and with Sam’s hand in his own, Guy feels like he can do anything at all.

So he keeps running, ignoring the shouts and screams behind him as he darts for the stairs. His knees protest as he haphazardly hurtles himself down those steps, the tower interior swallowing them up.

The balloon port tower is ridiculously tall, but evidently, it’s a lot easier to run down stairs than it is to run up them. The spiral staircase is long and winding, and soon the two are running in silence, only the sounds of their footsteps and panted breaths echoing off the walls around them. The lights overhead are too bright compared to the night sky outside, and it feels unsettling, offering little in the way of hiding places.

But when they’re about halfway down, Guy feels Sam tug at his hand. The smaller man digs his heels in as they come to a landing, but Guy only tightens his grip, attempting to keep pulling them ever downwards.

Suddenly Sam’s hand clamps down on him, crushing his fingers with a strength the inventor frequently forgets he possesses. He cries out in pain and shock, and just like that they come to a stop, panting and shaking, the taller man whirling to face his companion.

Sam is talking before he can even open his mouth, his face twisted in despair and panic, free hand waving this way and that as he stands on tip-toe in an attempt to make himself more imposing.

“What in the flying _frittata_ do you think you’re _doing_?!” Sam yowls, and he gestures towards the floors above them, silent for now as the cops undoubtedly lag behind them. “ _Guy_! We have to go back!”

Guy blinks hard, incredulous, and he gesticulates his hand just as wildly, still refusing to let go of his tiny companion, “Are you _nuts_?! No, out of the question. We’re going Sam. Less _talking_ , more **running**. They’ll catch you if we’re not careful-”

“That was the point!” Sam howls, and he jabs a finger hard against Guy’s chest, tears swimming in his eyes, “I’m a _wanted criminal_! You said it yourself! This was my last job, one way or another, and you… do you have any idea what you’ve _done_?!”

“Do I look daft to you?” Guy hisses back, the two getting in each other’s faces, “I know what I said, and I know what I’m doing! Is this really the time for, what? For you to _play martyr_?!”

“Oh come on! It’s not about that!” Sam stomps his foot, his hands shaking as he yells in frustration, “ **You can’t do this!** I’ve spent almost my whole life running! Is that what you want?! You finally had everything you could ever want, a family that loves you, a place to come home to, some… some semblance of normalcy! You can’t throw that away, _you can’t_! Michellee is up there waiting for you, so you go back up there-”

“ **I don’t want Michellee!** ” Guy yells right back, stomping his own foot as he leans in closer still in his vehemence, face a mask of desperation and indignant fury.

But the words seem to hit Sam like a ton of bricks, and the smaller man’s lips part in a quiet gasp, flinching back as wide eyes search Guy’s own. And suddenly Guy feels it too, the weight and realization of those words stealing his fire and deflating him in an instant. His free hand comes up to his chest, his fingers curling in his ruff as he swallows, holding Sam’s gaze pleadingly.

“I don’t want Michellee…” he repeats solemnly, willing those words to reach him, “I don’t want _normalcy_ , whatever that’s supposed to mean to you. Okay? Sam, I…”

But the words fail him, his chest pulled impossibly tight under the weight of all he wants to say, but simply doesn’t know how to. He fights for breath, spluttering helplessly as he tries and fails to string together the sounds and syllables it would take to convey the magnitude of that weight. Sam watches on slack-jawed, tears silently overflowing and disappearing into the silky fur of his face. The light shines off of them before they can disappear into the white, winking at him like falling stars. He smells like sweat, saltwater and singed fur, and soot stains the pristine white of his features, ash on freshly fallen snow.

“Guy…” Sam starts, his voice thick, but suddenly there’s the unmistakable sound of distant thundering feet above them, and the two look up, their grip on one another tightening.

“Please stay with me, Sam. Don’t leave me again. Please! Just one more try?” Guy pleads, leaning down somewhat to level the smaller man with a desperately imploring gaze. Sam’s chest heaves, visibly shaken as he searches Guy’s features, his face so close to his own.

_Please stay. Stay, stay, **stay.**_

“Okay. Okay.” Sam breathes, giving his hand a squeeze, and Guy doesn’t waste another second, taking off at a dead out sprint down the stairs and dragging Sam along with him once more. His heart sends his blood singing through his veins, and this time it’s not from the adrenaline or his fervent fleeing.

He doesn’t want Michellee. The feeling of apprehension and uncertainty had niggled at him since he’d been confronted by the prospect of losing Sam forever. The panic and heartache had welled up in him, overshadowing his infatuation for the bean counter and putting his feelings in stark juxtaposition of one another. And even as she’d kissed him at the top of the tower, the contact had been a shock, and one that had left him feeling more unsettled than overjoyed. Even more so as he’d caught the frequent but subtle slips of Sam’s cheerful smiles afterwards.

Those were moments that anyone else would have missed, even himself, before he’d so frequently allowed his gaze to linger on Sam’s features, tracing every smile, every frown, every twinkle in his eyes or lack thereof. When the warmth of Sam’s smiles didn’t reach his eyes, Guy could see them for what they were; a wall, a facade to keep others out, or to keep it all in. Walls that weren’t that unlike his own, presented differently.

And it’s easier to see now that he knows they’re there, knows how many other lies Sam has lived. A master of performance in every aspect of his life, presenting himself to the world in whatever way he could to win hearts, minds, and wallets, dispelling suspicion and winning dismissals. 

No one had stayed to see the Sam I-Am beneath the Bandit. But Guy had seen him. Seen him shine so brightly it had lit up his dreary, hopeless world. And he never wanted to be out from under that light again, or to lose that smile that washed life-giving warmth over him.

He wants Sam. Everything else will fall into place behind him, like it has since he’d met him. And now Sam is here to stay, right by his side, his smaller hand entwined with his. They’ll give it one more fight, and they’ll make it count, no matter what it took.

Guy will do anything for Sam. And that in itself is a comforting thought, one that puts a smile on his face as the floors fly by them.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. You Look So Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With hefty choices and realizations made, our convicts feel all the lighter for them. Now they need only make their daring escape. At least this wouldn't be the first time they'd beaten the odds, and it wouldn't be the last time either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to cut the chapter up into two since it was super long! It's much more digestable in chunks.  
> Please feel free to make suggestions in the comments, or leave a kudos/feedback. 
> 
> Happy reading! <3

_I don’t want Michellee!_

The words echo through Sam’s shell-shocked mind, loud even over the thunder of their feet on the stairs and their frantic intakes of breath as they raced down the monstrous balloon port tower. It makes his head spin, but Guy’s firm grasp on his hand grounds him, and the heister finds himself staring hard into the tawny expanse of Guy’s back.

When Sam had so vehemently encouraged Guy to pursue Michellee, he hadn’t anticipated it hurting as much as it did. And by the time he’d realized the foolishness of his actions, he’d figured it was too late to stop what he’d already set in motion. It had been convenient to have Guy paying as much attention to her as he had, and despite it all, Sam really wanted what was best for his friend. If the bean counter was what he wanted, what kind of friend would deny him that? 

But now that festering pain was gone, washed away by those words, and in its place a new kind of heartache blossomed, bringing tears to his eyes.

Guy had chosen him all over again. And he was right before; he wasn’t the naive Knox he’d first met. He knew what the stakes were, and yet he’d still chosen _him_ , over a life of freedom and blissful normalcy. That explosion was what, international terrorism? Assaulting several police officers, aiding and abetting, obstruction of justice, endangering civilians? The list went on and on, and yet here he was, leaving his life behind for a life of running and Seuss knows what else..

And it was for him. Was that a leap to make? No, it wasn’t. For the 3rd time in his life, someone had chosen Sam over everything else, sacrificing something for him, and it was Guy every time. Guy Am-I, who’d gotten himself arrested to save him, who’d chosen to eat green eggs and ham to show his dedication to him. And it’s Guy Am-I who holds his hand now, the fur of his back and shoulders burnt from the explosion he caused to flee with him.

Sam doesn’t think he could be any more in love than he is now.

His breath hitches in his chest, a hiccup of a sob escaping him as the emotions threaten to overwhelm him. His lips press together in an effort to fight back his tearful display, and he swiftly paws at his eyes with his free hand, dismissing his tears before Guy can see him break down more than he already has.

But suddenly the two round a corner, and they’re confronted with the cold night air once more as they alight on the 1st floor of the tower. They take a moment to catch their breath, looking this way and that, and Sam almost swoons as Guy steps closer to him, a decidedly protective air about him.

“Wonderful.” the inventor growls, and Sam scans the port deck, assessing the situation.

They’re not alone at the base of the tower. A small ragtag group of balloon port security officers stand nearby, arguing amongst themselves as they flail and gesture up to the top floor of the tower. A few of them still stare up at it in shock, their hands on their heads.

“I’m not ready for this! Did you see that?!”

“We’d better go up there and help them-

“But the police are trained for this sort of thing!”

“ _We’re supposed_ to be trained for this sort of thing, knucklehead!”

“Oh sure, if you want to go confront terrorists, be my guest. You’re a yipping _baggage checker_ , not Frank Bullitt!”

This starts off their arguing with renewed vigour, the group descending into chaos, and Guy arches a brow, letting out a quiet grumble, “Nice to know our ports of entry are in such capable hands.”

But Sam doesn’t answer, taking the opportunity to watch the group as his mind races a mile a minute. There’s five of them, unarmed, much to his relief. Two of them wear clean, shining uniforms with little to no wear and tear. Greenhorns, undoubtedly. But he recognises at least one of them immediately, the cream coloured Knox who’d indeed been the baggage checker on duty when they’d raced through earlier.

And they’re the first person to notice them then, their eyebrows arching as they finally spot the pair lingering nearby. Sam only has a moment to act, and he sincerely hopes Guy follows his lead.

“Oh thank _goodness_ you’re here, officers!” Sam wails dramatically, clutching his free hand to his chest as he sways haphazardly on the spot. He coughs thickly, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Guy tense up, the inventor holding his hand in a white-knuckled grip.

“Please help us!” Guy joins in with a desperate plea of his own, and Sam leans heavily against him, “It’s utter chaos up there, we’ve never seen anything like it!”

The group gape at them for a minute, taking in their haggard appearance. Sam can imagine what they must look like, their fur charred and matted from a combination of sweat and saltwater, shaking from adrenaline. Sam’s eyes are undoubtedly still wet with tears, something he’s most grateful for. Not that he couldn’t cry on demand if need be.

The baggage checker straightens, puffing out their chest as they run forward to meet them at the foot of the stairs, “You two! Did you just come from the top floor?”

“Dilikens, we did!” Sam sobs, and he presses his hand to his face, tears streaming from his eyes, “Everything hurts! This was supposed to be our dream honeymoon!”

Guy frees his hand from his to wrap his arm around Sam’s shoulders, and he pulls the apparently distraught Who to him, letting him bury his face in his side. Sam’s glad no one can see the red hue bloom on his face, obscured by orange fur, “They set a bomb off upstairs. We bolted, but the cops weren’t expecting it. They need help, some of them weren’t moving when we left.”

Sam peeks out from Guy’s fur to watch the guards look between one another, mortified. Some of them splutter nervously, looking for anyone else to handle the situation. But it’s the baggage checker that sets their face into a determined frown, turning to their coworkers.

“You heard them. Get your butts up there, the balloonavator isn’t working, and it’s a long way to the top! Terry, you stay here with these two, don’t let them leave your sight!”

But they pause for a moment, squinting at the pair with arched brows, “Wait. Your tickets, may I see them please?”

Sam is about to reach up for them, but Guy beats him to it, gently slipping his hand beneath his hat to grab the tickets. His fingers brush through his fur before he finds them and hands them over.

The checker scans the tickets critically, mouth twisted, before they look up to arch a brow at the pair, “Miss Tyrious Briefcase?”

Guy stiffens against him in panic, but Sam sniffles, pawing at his eyes before he levels them with a beseeching gaze, “I wanted to keep my last name… we almost went double barrel, but Briefcase-I-Am didn’t really feel right to me, ya know?”

There’s a moment of weighty silence, and Sam’s almost certain they’re done for. But the sandy Knox's gaze softens then, smiling empathetically down at him as they offer the tickets back, “Oh I get ya, I didn’t take my husband’s last name either. You gonna be okay, ma’am?”

Sam offers them a shaky smile, straightening a little. “I will be now, thank you so much.”

The group don’t spare a moment longer before they’re rushing up the stairs, leaving a scrawny blue Who behind who looks mightily unhappy to be there, shifting anxiously on the spot. Guy gives a quiet chuckle, rubbing Sam’s shoulder as he smiles down at him wryly.

“I’m offended you didn’t want to take my last name.”

Sam actually barks with laughter at that, taken aback by his briefcase buddy's humour, “You’re right, maybe we should have opted for the double-barrel. I wouldn’t want this to be a sore spot for us.”

“Oh, I’m sure at least _some_ contention is only natural in a marriage, but it’s not too late to change your name regardless.” Guy drawls, before he turns his gaze on the nervous-looking greenhorn, “Terry, was it? You look like a nice kid. You can either take a seat, or I can knock you out with this briefcase. What will it be?”

The sunny convict is thrown all over again, eyes almost popping out of his skull as he does a comic double-take. Guy levels the shell shocked guard with the most amicable smile Sam’s ever seen on him, all confidence with a thinly veiled air of malevolence. Terry hesitates for only a moment before he scrambles back to sit on the steps, his knees knocking together as he shrinks before the decidedly magnanimous Knox.

“ _Great choice_ Terry! Would have gone for it myself!” Sam cheers, and he throws him a pair of jaunty finger guns, “You’re a star!”

But Guy takes Sam’s hand in his, and before he knows it they’re on their way again, making a beeline for the stairs into the heart of the balloon port terminal before they could be joined by the scores of officers likely right on their tail by now.

The pair charge through the empty baggage checking station and security, leaping over obstacles with surprising grace. But they stop in their tracks as they arrive at the terminal, the pair jumping as they’re met by throngs of anxious-looking travellers. Guards and ground staff dot the crowds, trying their best to maintain some clumsy semblance of order.

And of course, from here they can just about make out the officers guarding the escalators to the exit, much to everyone’s chagrin.

Guy exchanges a brief, worried glance with Sam, bushy brows knitted as he throws the exit a pointed look. And then he’s pulling him into the outskirts of the frey, holding onto him tightly.

“What now?” Sam hisses under his breath as they loiter near a group of foreign knoxes. Guy chews absently at his bottom lip, his gaze flicking this way and that. He’s silent for the most part, and Sam feels his gut twist with nerves, his teeth on edge.

It wouldn’t be long before their pursuers would be right on top of them again, and as Guy had said earlier, the terminal is lit up like a birthday cake. Even with the thrumming crowds that litter the terminal, there’s little in the way of hiding places, and they’ll be spotted before they can make it past the officers ahead.

But suddenly Guy’s hand slips from his, and Sam sucks in a panicked breath, grabbing at his arm before he can step away, “Where are you going?!”

“Wait right here.” He hisses back, giving him a meaningful look before gently tugging himself free. Sam whines uneasily, but Guy is already off, slinking along the edge of the crowd as casually as the situation will allow. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s moments like these that Guy relishes crowds. Despite his disdain towards the populace, and his discomfort around people, a crowd was one of the best places to go unseen. And as much as Sam was a master at performance, Guy was an expert at making himself as uninteresting and nondescript as possible. And who would give a sad, dishevelled looking vagrant the time of day anyway?

So when no one bats an eyelash as he ambles past, he can’t help but turn to flash Sam a rather cocksure grin, the smaller man having shifted to hide behind a perfectly sized potted plant. He doesn’t seem to share Guy’s confidence, his expression one of disdain as he points from him to the ground beside him, mouthing the words ‘Get back here!’ with visible vehemence.

He’s about to wave a hand dismissively, but the inventor stops mid-motion, finally spotting the wave of officers barreling through the baggage check. They look crispy and more than a little furious as they scan the crowds, hands poised at their holsters.

With a grimace Guy throws himself against the wall, just as the crowd around him turns in unison to eye the alarming development. And as their murmurs of confusion and rising panic grow, he uses his elbow to break the glass to the nearby fire alarm. Gritting his teeth, he slams his fist against the oversized button, shards of glass cutting his knuckles and the back of his hand.

The caterwaul of the fire alarm is instantaneous, and overhead the lights turn from their iridescent white to a shade of red that Guy practically delights in. How could anyone see in all this?

And just like that, the world explodes into sheer, unbridled chaos. In the gloom, the crowd breaks out into wild screams and howls of fear and panic, a churning mass of bodies no mere man could dream of controlling. Balloon port security and cops alike look on in horror, some panicking themselves, others helplessly trying and failing to restore order.

“ ** _GENUINE PANIC~_**!” A robotic chorus of voices sing above the sirens, and Guy lets out a bemused guffaw of laughter, pushing his way along the outskirts of the maelstrom of bodies to find Sam gaping at the entire affair, eyes the size of dinner plates as he clings to the potted plant for dear life.

“ _Cordon bleu_!” He breathes, otherwise lost for words, and Guy beams gleefully at him, waving towards the escalators. The officers there are already overwhelmed, bawled over by the panicked stampede of fleeing tourists and travellers.

“Let’s go Sam!” Guy presses, and after throwing a glance to the seething mass he deftly scoops Sam up into one arm, making the smaller man gasp out in shock as he clings to Guy’s ruff for purchase.

He isn’t going to lose Sam in there. As small as the buttercup coloured little man is, he could easily get trampled in the mindless chaos. And when it’s every man for themselves, they don’t much care what, or who, they stand on to preserve themselves. Consequences be damned. So much for being better than beasts. Though he doubted he’d fair much better.

Swathed in red, the two spare each other a moment to simply be, their faces close as they hold onto one another. In each other's arms the howl of the sirens and panicked screaming is all but zoned out, save for the rapid staccato of their hearts. They press their foreheads together, sucking in a breath to steel themselves, and Guy’s heart skips a beat as Sam snuzzles his brow against his, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Ready?”

“Ready. Don’t let go, okay?” Guy breathes, returning the snuzzle of protection he’d once been so determined to refuse. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, bud.”

He can’t help but smile back at him, his shoulders heaving with the deep breath he takes. Then Guy dives right into the frey, clutching his best friend and briefcase to his chest as the pandemonium consumes them.

The Knox is almost instantly confronted by jostling bodies and jabbing elbows, and Sam yelps as one gets him right in the side. Guy presses him to his chest tighter, baring his teeth in a snarl, but there was no one person to direct it at. Growling under his breath he pushes through the crowd with neigh on excessive force, channelling years of pushing past unwanted social interactions and scaring people away with his callousness. When someone dares to cross his path, a well-aimed shoulder or a thrust out briefcase shoves them aside, and soon enough he finds the current, the unmistakable flow of people fleeing for the exit.

Suddenly, off to his right, Guy comes face to face with the officer who’d herded Michellee and EB at the top of the tower, so close it makes him yelp out in alarm. What colour was he, mint green? Yellow? It was hard to tell when everything was varying shades of red. The man gapes at him, as if he too was shocked to actually find him, before his eyes narrow, spittle flying from beneath his bottle brush moustache as he roars. He attempts to make a grab at them, flailing clumsily

“ **You**! Stop right there! You’re under arrest!”

Wide eyed and more than a little spooked, Guy does no such thing. Instead, he falls back into the crowd behind him, stumbling and scrambling for purchase as the group sweeps him up and carries him along again just as those clawing hands swipe at his arm, trying and failing to find purchase. The officer howls in frustration, disappearing from sight as the bodies close in on him once again.

“He seemed almost unhappy to see us!” Sam quips, peering over Guy’s shoulder, but the Knox is too shaken to laugh. He’s quickly distracted by another elbow to his side however, and he growls low, snarling at the offending limb. That same elbow jabs at him again, but it’s Sam who retaliates this time, using a well-aimed kick to the gut to wind the oblivious assailant and send them away from the pair.

It’s after what feels like an eternity that the tide spits the pair out on the other side of the exit, and both of them are shocked to realize they’d somehow ended up on the first floor. When had they even used the escalators? But as the herd thins out in the late-night air, Guy quickly gets his wits about him, taking off at a dead out run towards the cover and safety of the forest that lines the base of the rise and the outskirts of Meepville city centre, passing blue and red flashing police cars as he goes. He leaves the path to weave between the trees and bushes, ignoring the branches that occasionally scratch and claw at his pelt.

And then his feet leave grass altogether, finding the concrete of the city once more. Sam hops down from his arms, and the two keep running, taking off down deserted alleyways and winding lanes. When they think they’ve gone deep enough, enveloped by the bustling sounds of the city, they dart down one of these alleys, pressing their backs to the bricked wall as they fight to catch their breaths.

When the seconds turn into minutes of blissful uninterrupted silence, and they’re not under immediate threat of discovery, Guy lets out a long shaky breath. He brings a hand up to rub at his brow and drag his hand up beneath his stovepipe, his fingers carding through the tuft of fur atop his head.

He realizes then that he’s shaking, his entire body singing with adrenaline. Taut and ready to spring back into action at a moment's notice. Sam’s body is much the same beside him, trembling beneath his yellow fur as he presses his head back against the cold bricks.

Before he can help it, a bark of laughter escapes the taller man, and the pair look at each other incredulously. Giggles bubble up in their throats, and before they quite know it they’re both hooting with giddy laughter, leaning against one another for support.

Guy stays like that for a while, doubled over and hugging his midriff as if that could contain his laughter. But he eventually notices Sam has stopped laughing, and the inventor-turned-felon reigns in his laughter enough to pull away from him, grinning as he darts to the mouth of the alley to peer this way and that.

“You know, I really think we lost em. And it’s getting late out, shouldn’t be hard to go unnoticed at this hour, huh Sam?” He remarks, turning on his heel to beam at his sunny little buddy.

Sam stays right where he is, mouth agape as he looks up at the taller man. His muddled cheeks are a rosy shade of pink, and Guy is momentarily flawed by the awe he sees on his friends face, that look sending heat rushing to his neck and up to his cheeks.

“Sorry bud.” Sam breathes, his chest heaving, and his sunny hands come up to fist in the dense fur on his torso. Finally, he simply grins, letting out what air he has in a breathless rush, “It’s just… you look so cool.”

_You look so cool._

Guy blinks hard, his heart lurching violently in his chest. The shock of it all parts his lips, and for the longest time he stares into Sam’s eyes, considering those words. Words that seem so weighty falling from those lips.

_You look so cool._

Steadily, a profound sense of elation fills his chest, the Knox basking in the warmth of Sam’s gaze and all the wonder and tenderness he finds there. When Sam looks at him like that, he feels like he can do anything, be anything. There’s not a shadow of doubt or trepidation in the smaller convict's eyes, not even an ounce of it. Indeed, all he sees is joy, pride, acceptance, all the things that Guy has longed for for so, so long.

And that’s another thing he sees in Sam’s eyes, taking his breath away.

Longing.

_**You look so cool.** _

As if he’s just eaten green eggs and ham a second time that night, Guy Am-I laughs joyously, grinning from ear to ear. Sam’s face lights up, though it falls somewhat in surprise as the Knox swiftly closes the space between them, charging at him in a rush.

And because he’s so happy, so filled with whimzileration, Guy doesn’t think twice about it as he presses his lips to Sam’s, sweeping the smaller man up into his arms. The Who gasps into the kiss, a shudder rocking his tiny frame, and Guy revels in the heat of his lips and the taste of his mouth on his.

Oh, for the last few days, he’d been thinking lots about this mouth.

Not necessarily about how soft it looked, or how sweet it was when it turned up at the corners. Oh no, that incessantly loud, obnoxious mouth had had him praying for vocal sabbaticals, but its persistence had certainly made those things a lot easier to notice.

For a nerve-wracking moment Sam is still in his arms, before he simply melts. The Who lets out an absolutely desperate, broken sound into the warmth of Guy’s mouth. Those wonderful hands drift up to cup Guy’s cheeks, trapping his fluffy ears between his fingers, and the inventor hungrily pries his lips apart, deepening the kiss with fervour. His tongue dips into the warm cavern of Sam’s mouth, and he feels a shaky rush of warm air against his face as Sam lets out a shaky exhale through his nose, pressing his entire body to his in clumsy, all-consuming need.

Struggling to maintain his balance, so lost is he in the caress of Sam’s tongue against his own, Guy falls back against the rough brick wall of the alley, sending a trash can sprawling with a thunderous crash. But neither man could care any less as Sam practically hikes his way up his beloved’s body, taking control of the kiss as Guy is forced to tilt his head back for him. Guy Am-I is drowning in Sam I-Am, each greedy press of his mouth up into Sam’s like a desperate bid for air at the surface of a raging sea of love and desire.

It’s only when they’re both too dizzy from lack of air, lips swollen from their passionate display, that Sam wrests his lips from his, the conman sucking in a ragged breath of the night air. Cheeks flushed a brilliant red, he runs his tongue over his full bottom lip, catching Guy’s taste there as a shudder rocks his entire frame. With Guy’s arms wrapped around his legs to support him, the Who leans over him, his hands trembling against his sunset coloured cheeks as he presses his forehead to his.

“I love you, Guy Am-I.” He says, and despite the tremor of emotion in his voice, it’s rock-solid with conviction. Tears spill from Sam’s eyes to pitter-patter the scowl lines that frame Guy’s cheeks, and he cherishes every single one, loosening an arm from around the Who’s legs to allow his hand to trace up the curve of his back.

“And I love you, Sam I-Am.” Guy rasps back, with feeling, willing the swell of his heart to be felt in his words. He presses his forehead up against Sam’s in a vehement nuzzle for good measure, and a soft sound, the most beautiful sound to grace his ears, spills from Sam’s lips in a whimper.

Then Sam’s lips are on his again in a slow indulgent kiss, and Guy lowers him till he’s dipping the smaller man, urging his legs to wrap around his midriff. The bandit does just that, moaning gently into the tender motions of the Knox’s lips against his. It sends electric sparks through his body, and he finds himself in awe all over again of the achingly sweet taste of Sam’s mouth. He longs to chase those sensations, and from the heated press of Sam’s body to his own, he can only guess he’s not alone.

But now is not the time for such pursuits, lest they add lewd conduct to their already stupendously long list of crimes against Whomanity. With a whimper of reluctance that Sam mournfully echoes, the two disentangle from one another for the most part, though Sam keeps his arms looped around his neck, forcing Guy to remain stooped over. He doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“What do we do now?” He breathes, lost in the twinkling starscape of Sam’s eyes as they reflect the city lights.

The Summer Who hums under his breath, lowering his gaze for just a moment. His lashes brush the snowy fur of his cheeks before he looks back up to him again, laughing breathlessly as he rubs Guy’s ears between his thumbs and index fingers. It takes everything he has in him not to melt into those petting hands.

“Well, travel bud… when the world rights itself for me again…” He giggles sheepishly, clearly flustered and more than a little shell shocked, “What do you say weeeee… _borrow_ a car?”

“Now that…” Guy hums, a deep rumbling sound that he’s pleased to see brings a whole new shade of maroon to Sam’s cheeks, “Sounds like a fantastic idea."<\p>


End file.
